Echoes of the Past
by Tirya King
Summary: G1. What happens in the past can lead to who one is in the future. And Jazz and Prowl were about as different back then as they are now. [Collaboration with DesertCat87]
1. Present of the Past

Title: Echoes of the Past

Authors: Tirya King and DesertCat87

Timeframe: Except for the Prologue, this takes place in the past when Jazz and Prowl were very young.

Summary: What happens in the past can lead to who one is in the future. And Jazz and Prowl were about as different back then as they are now.

Disclaimer: We do not own Transformers. We do own the following: Patchjob, Hazard, Hex, Backfire, Gunlock, Vivance, and any other oc's you may encounter

DeserCat87 Author's Notes: Woot! Another chapter fic! This one is gunna be fun too! I just wanna thank Tirya for letting me write along with her. :D Now, that's all I got to say this round, thanks again everyone and remember: reviews are an author's best friend!

Tirya's A/N: Well here we go with something new! This is my first published collaboration with someone else, and I'm wicked excited about it. Thank you, Des, for agreeing to write this with me. I hope everyone enjoys this! We're in for a wild ride!

Things you should know: This takes place in the same universe as 'Nurture vs. Nature,' but happens many years beforehand. The characters that you may recognize from Des's stories are very similar to their originals in personality and occupation, but remember, this is a different universe. They are not the same.

Echoes of the Past

Prologue: Present of the Past

"Jazz, please stop trying to sit up. You will only aggravate your wound further."

"I'm fine, man. I'm sick o' lyin' around like some lump o' slag metal."

Prowl shook his head, feeling his door panels twitch slightly in irritation. After taking a missile right in the chest, most bots would be bed-ridden for weeks. Yet after only a few days of rest and healing, the special operations officer insisted he was just fine. He was never one to stay still for long and, for him, a week was quite long enough.

Why he was so itchy to get back to work, Prowl didn't think he would ever understand. It wasn't as though Jazz had nothing to do while he was here. All his friends had taken turns sitting with him in his quarters after Ratchet had thrown him out for 'driving him insane.' It seemed the CMO wouldn't stand stir-crazy officers any longer than he had to. For the time being, Jazz had been confined to quarters with strict instructions to stay there on his berth and not move. If he needed something, he could call someone.

"You are not fine. You will not be fine for another week at least. Try to relax." Prowl had a megacycle off before he met with Prime for a debrief, so for the moment he was free to try his luck at calming his friend down.

"Relax?" Jazz frowned, but did lay back down anyway. "How can I relax, man? It's boring in here. It's too quiet. You know I hate the quiet."

Prowl's gaze became more sympathetic. "I know." His friend did indeed look miserable to be stuck in here while the rest of the world went on without him. Despite the loud, nearly deafening, music that continuously played, Jazz wanted more. Louder. So loud that he forgot that for the majority of the time, he had only himself for company while everyone else was on duty.

Searching his subspace pockets, the tactician finally found what he was looking for. He was never one for get-well gifts or other such things. But he figured the wounded Porsche might need this. He'd gotten it a while ago and now seemed as good a time to give it as any. "Jazz," he said, offering a plain, unmarked disc. "Perhaps this might help?"

The younger officer took the offered disc and stared at it for a moment. "What is it?" he asked curiously.

Prowl did not let even the hint of a smile show on his face, but his optics crinkled at the edges. "Play it and see for yourself."

Not one to turn down any sort of music, Jazz did as he was told, replacing 'System of a Down' with the mysterious gift. The sound that came out was nothing like he'd ever heard on this planet, yet he knew it so well. With a sudden realization, his face went slack. No, it _was_ no music one would find on Earth.

It was from Cybertron.

"Viv," he whispered, hearing the trilling notes and the voices reaching a beautiful crescendo. The music flowed around him, making him feel safe and warm like he hadn't felt in years. This was his creator's favorite orchestra from Cybertron; she'd taken him to hear them many many times. Of course she had owned all of their music and he'd quickly learned to love it as well. But… "Prowl, wasn't this…"

"No," the tactician shook his head. "It took some considerable searching, but I found a copy still in existence. I thought you may like it while you are confined to quarters." So much of the Cybertron's beautiful culture had long been eradicated due to the war. Many things, like these older recordings, were true treasures.

Jazz looked back at his best friend, not knowing how to thank him for this gift. However he knew Prowl understood how much this meant to him, so he didn't even try. Instead he chose humor as was his habit when things got too serious. "So is this repayment for scratching that other one?" he teased, grinning.

The Datsun sat up straighter, door panels upright and proud. "I did no such thing," he denied. "Jazz, that was millions of years ago, and you still insist…"

"Dude, you did! You scratched her favorite cd and oh man was she ready to skin you alive." The years seemed to melt off him as he tossed back another jibe. An easy grin made its way to Jazz's face, reminding his friend of the young maverick he had first known.

Giving him a long-suffering dry look Prowl said, "I don't have skin."

Jazz waved his left hand flippantly. Details. "Anyway, the point is, you scratched it. No wonder Vivi didn't invite you around so much after that."

"On the contrary, she seemed to think I was a good influence on you."

The injured Porsche laughed at that and even Prowl managed a small smile. The rest of the visit was spent in companionable silence as each remembered days long passed. A time when life was, if not happier, at least much simpler.

In the background, the old orchestra played on.

End Prologue


	2. Brand New Day

Tirya's A/N: I wonder, can anyone guess which one is Prowl and which one is Jazz? Oh, by the way, we forgot to mention this in the prologue, but will be non-slash. Lol, I can't even write regular romance with humans let alone slash with giant robots.

DesertCat87's A/N: Like Tirya said, I really wonder if people can tell the difference as to which is Jazz and which is Prowl. I bet it's not who you think when you first read it! Nothing much for me to say this round, other than big thanks to the reviews! Glad everyone liked the prolouge. Oh and I second what Tirya said about this being non-slash. And disclaimer: We own all the characters here Except Prowl and Jazz. Please R&R:D Baby Jazz and baby Prowl are too cute, you know it so write a review huh? XD

Chapter One: Brand New Day

"Where _is_ he?"

"Shut up, 'e'll be here."

"He better be, Backfire, I have a lot o' better things I could be doin' right now."

"Oh please," the blue and orange mech snorted. "Like wot? Ye don' have tha' many clients, Patch."

Patchjob clenched a welder in his fist and narrowed his optics. "So what's this slaggin' job _for_ anyway? You better not be putting me through all this slag just cause Hex needs somethin' to cuddle."

The femme in question looked up from where she was slouched against a far wall and narrowed her blue optics. "What does it matter, you hunk of scrap? We're paying you top credit for this job. So you just sit tight and shut your mouth and do what you're told."

Never one to be bossed, the repair technician moved to reply in kind, but a sound near the front door quieted him down. He eyed the entrance with suspicion. If he got caught doing this, it would shadow all the shady business he'd done over the years. This was big, probably too big for the meager amount of credits he'd been given. But he needed the money. Backfire was right, slag him, business had been slow. Too slow.

The completed body shell lay lifeless on the berth in the center of the workroom. Nothing too pretty to look at, that was for sure, but it was all he could come up with on such short notice. A charcoal black and gray from helm to foot and dingy as well, the fledgling was of a standard body height and design. Nothing fancy to make him stand out, those were the instructions. Well he wouldn't stick out, that was for sure. Be mistaken for a hunk of scrap, perhaps, but not stick out.

His attention was drawn again as the sound grew louder. It was someone rapping against the door. Well, it sounded more like kicking actually.

Swapping glances with his assistant, Hazard, Patchjob walked cautiously to the door. "Who is it?" he demanded. "Why are y' makin' such a racket at this time o' night?"

"Open the slag up!" an angry voice shouted back. "I got my arms full here!"

Recognizing Gunlock's gruff voice anywhere, the technician complied. The large mech pushed his way in once the door had opened slightly. He moved quickly over to the berth that contained the new sparkling, cradling a small black box with unusual care.

"Any problems, Lock?" Backfire asked, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd gotten the parcel at last. He hated unknown variables, and this one was finally accounted for. Not that he didn't trust his partner, but he felt much better knowing that the mission had been a success.

"Not a one," Gunlock replied, opening the box to inspect his prize. "Almost got caught down by the docks, but I managed to sneak by." The lid off, everyone could see the shine of a newly produced spark lighting up the old room. Safely held within its container, it pulsed bright and strong. It looked strangely out of place in the dirty, rusty repair room.

Hazard stared down at the beautiful thing for a moment before giving a sideways glance to Gunlock. "An' do I wanna know where you got this?"

The dark red bot shrugged, not answering. It was probably best that he didn't know anyway. All Hazard knew was that this spark definitely belonged to someone and it wasn't any to of his three clients. Well, he wasn't being paid to ask questions; he'd learned long ago that questions only made things messier. His job was to see that this spark made it into that body without mishap, and that was what he was going to do.

Together he and Patchjob opened the latches to the infant's chest to prep the laser core. While the body might not look like much, it would work just fine. They'd both built fledglings for clients before; it really wasn't so hard after the first few times. Sure this one would probably have some issues to be worked out, but both technicians had faith that this creation would serve its purpose… whatever that purpose may be. The trio of traders hadn't specified why they wanted this child or even what it might be used for.

Hex looked curiously over Patchjob's shoulder, frowning when she did so. She'd never seen the insides of a mech before, but she was pretty sure this wasn't what it was supposed to look like. "The best technology you could find, eh Patchy?" she questioned. "Where did you look, the scrap heap?"

Backfire approached the procedure as well, hearing the femme's displeasure. "Ye didna swindle us, did ye, Patch? We said we could get ye the parts ye needed. 'Specially since we're payin' f' th' lot anyway."

"Would th' both o' yeh jus' back th' slag off?" the technician barked. "The kid'll be jus' fine. I wouldn't swindle my best suppliers, now would I?"

Hazard bit down the smirk that wanted to show itself, but somehow he just couldn't hide it. He made a show of ducking under the table to retrieve a fallen tool instead. Patchjob would swindle his own creator if only to make a few extra credits and everyone knew it. Sure the infant would function, but Hazard was sure that his partner had made it so there would be many future visits to their shop. Not that it would fool the trio of tech traders any. Hazard just hoped Patchjob had a good excuse on his lips when the slag hit the fan. But then, he always did.

The three glared at the mechanic with distrust, but they did back off. For now anyway. This was a huge investment for them and they couldn't risk anything happening to it. If something was wrong, they could always take it out of Patchjob and Hazard's skidplates later.

Once all the valves were open, Patchjob took the box that contained the spark, removing the small electromagnetic casing containing the precious young life. As he opening the casing to insert the spark, he started muttering to himself. "And Primus breathed upon the creature born from His body and it was given life…"

Hex snorted at that. Patchjob really did think he was Primus, didn't he? Arrogant slagger.

Once the spark was safely inserted, the two mechanics closed the valves to the laser core and stepped back. The spark had to activate the body by itself and bring the young one to life. Yet the longer everyone waited with bated breath, the more they realized that nothing was happening.

"You stupid son of a…" Hex clenched her fists tightly, the blades in her wrists slowly unsheathing themselves. "We told you to make us a sparkling not a fragging doorstop!"

"I built th' thing fine!" Patchjob backed up from the furious femme. "That great lug o' yours brought me a dud spark!"

"What?" cried the largest of the three traders standing to his full height. "That spark was just fine till you got your greasy claws all over it."

Backfire said nothing, but just stood back watching to see what would happen next. Patchjob and his shop was a large part of his clientele, but no one tried to slag him or his two companions. Quietly, while the mechanic and his assistant were focused on Gunlock and Hex, he pulled a small blaster out of subspace. Not that Patchjob or Hazard offered much of a threat. But in their business one could never be too careful.

Patchjob stepped back from the femme who looked as though she might put her blades to good use.

Hex stopped her advance when a movement to her side caught her attention. The fledgling was moving on its own! Blue optics dimly lit, the child tried to sit upright, making a small noise in the back of his throat.

"I told you!" Patchjob spat. "Y' paranoid femme. I told y' th' young'un was fine."

"He's alive, that doesn't mean he's fine," Hex shook her head, but nonetheless retracted her twin blades. The mechanic was too important to her and her companions to skewer just yet.

The young life tried again to push himself to an upright position, this time succeeding. He was quiet for the moment, just trying to get a feel for himself and his surroundings. His gray head lifted and looked around the room, seeing the 5 bots staring at him, waiting for him to do something.

He smiled tentatively, but the smile faded when none returned the favor. What was this place? Someone was supposed to be here for him, someone to take care of him. Were one of these bots that person? Why did none of them go to him. Was he supposed to go to them instead?

Pushing himself so his feet dangled off the berth, the newborn stared up at the femme who was the closest to him. Trying a smile again he reached for her, eager for any sort of physical contact. Yet as his fingers stretched out, she took a step back from him, an odd look on her face. It wasn't displeasure, but it wasn't welcoming either. Why didn't she want him to touch her? Was there something wrong with him?

He turned to stare at a light blue and orange bot who walked forward to stand right before him. This time when he reached out, the new mech did not back away. His scratched black hands touched sleek blue plating. The mech smiled lazily at the fledgling and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Good mornin', lad," the mech greeted. "M' name's Backfire an' these are me mates, Hex an' Gunlock. We're yo' creators."

The child's shy smile grew at Backfire's acceptance of him. Maybe he wasn't unwanted after al1!

"'S time t' come home, kid," Backfire continued, taking a small step back so the sparkling could no longer feel his cool plating under his hand. "Come on."

The young one scooted forward, wanting to be near his creator again. But the further he scooted, the further Backfire would back away. He had no choice but to leave the berth altogether. The other mechs were walking; perhaps he could do that too!

He made it a step or two before his legs crumpled beneath him. Was it normal that a creator not catch their infant when it fell? Backfire and the others just waited as he struggled to his feet again, this time maintaining his upright position, however shaky. Seeing the blue and orange's pleasure in his optics made him more confident and his steps weren't so tentative.

Finally he reached Backfire again and touched his forearm to feel that smooth plating again. The elder mech didn't look especially tall when compared with the others around them, but the young one was still a good head shorter. He looked up into Backfire's optics and smiled when he saw the mech's quiet approval. The larger of his creators, Gunlock, nodded to the little femme who was much closer to the sparkling's size. As one the two turned towards the door, seemingly eager to leave the place of his birth. Backfire and the new mech followed soon after once credits exchanged hands to two others he did not know.

The young one's grip tightened on the other's arm once they began to move again. But he couldn't stop another smile from reaching his lips. One that matched the one of Backfire.

His creator.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Why not?"

"Because I said so." The old engineer sneered, snagging a wrench off the desk and tried for the third time to walk around the growling femme. For an upper class, she sure did yell an awful lot.

"But you don't understand… I need him! You have his spark, you have his shell- Why won't you give him to me?" Vivance pleaded, rounding on the squat engineer again, stopping him in the doorway by throwing her body into the way.

The engineer put his hands on his hips. "Look, lady. You can't go in there yet. You have to let him adjust on his own for the first few cycles. You can have him soon. Now go away, I got work to get done." He pushed by her, leaving the nervous soon to be creator alone in the doorway.

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The young mech sat up on his own for the first time, somehow expecting to find open arms when he did so. But no one ever did. In fact, there was no one even there, much less with open arms. Just him, a recharge berth and ugly orange walls. There was no sound, there was little light. For some reason this didn't seem right at all. Wasn't there someone he was supposed to know? Someone to help him? This felt…wrong.

Slowly, he tried to rise up on his feet, only to stumble to the floor. Feet. Huh. That wasn't supposed to happen. Try again. His legs felt so strange. Heavy. His hands scrambled for the berth to hoist himself back to those things they called feet. Why did his legs seem to bend like that? They make it hard to stand when they bend under him like that!

Berth. This was where he… what was the word? Recharged. Right. He had to do that right? Why wasn't someone around to tell him stuff like this? Once again, the young one breathed in deeply and tried it again. This… walking thing can't be so hard.

One foot in front of the other… slowly now…. Oh. So that's why the leg part bends… okay. This isn't so bad. He turned his head and noticed he had already made three whole steps. He some how felt the urge to put his hands together to… clap? Was that the word?

Carefully, he walked back to the berth. This place felt safe. Suddenly, the rest of the room… the rest didn't feel right. He shouldn't be here all alone like this. There was supposed to be someone here. He knew there was supposed to be someone else here. It wasn't supposed to be so quiet. There was supposed to be other mechs and femmes- why was he all alone? Was something wrong with him? Maybe…maybe no one wanted him. Maybe he did something wrong.

The young one silently curled up on his berth- his safe spot- and waited. If someone wanted him… they would come. They had to come. They wouldn't just leave him alone…would they? All alone? In this room… He suddenly felt something new. Fear. That was what they called it. And perhaps… loneliness. 

0000000000

Oh wonderful. The femme was back. The old engineer fought down the urge to run for the back room. Hopefully the femme wouldn't figure out he had been keeping the sparkling for an extra five cycles for their experiment to see how the new spark would react to being activated and kept separate from any other contact. The uppity femme wouldn't be happy if she found out about that. Oh no. Neither would his superiors-and others would condemn him as being downright cruel for leaving a 'newborn' unattended for cycles. They didn't understand! The need for research… but then hopefully the other femme technician put enough energon in there with him or… well that wouldn't be good. 

The femme jogged the rest of the way, coming up the desk circulating air heavily. It was painfully obvious she had practically sprinted the entire way here. "Is he ready? May I see him?" She breathed, leaning heavily on the desk.

"Yeah yeah, hang on. Just don't touch anything, femme." The engineer grouched, and got to his feet, staggering to the back.

"Oh wait! I want to take him out of the room myself."

"Ohhh no. You wait here." He pointed to the floor, leveling at glare at the excited femme.

Vivance drew herself up and crossed her arms. "I'm going to get him out of the room," she said finally, "And if you don't let me in that room then I will report you myself."

The mech looked skeptical but acquiesced. The last thing he needed was some upper giving him trouble. One report from a client like that… and the shop would be put underground. "Fine. Down the hall and to your left."

"Thank you." She muttered darkly. No way was some short runt of an engineer going to tell her she couldn't see her own creation!

There was the door. Vivance's pump began to hammer loudly again at the thought of seeing her own beloved creation for the first time. She had waited for this moment for so long now. Running her hands down the door one final time before she reached for the unlock…

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The young one shifted on his berth to see as the light from the now open door stung his sensitive optics and sound filled his audios for the first time. Part of his brain screamed for him to throw himself at the figure in the doorway in pure relief at having someone- anyone around him. But the other part…the other part told him not to trust. Already he was confused… scared… alone. How did he know what this… whoever or whatever- would do?

"Don't be afraid, little one." The figure spoke softy, a sound the young one liked. It was silky sounding and so calm and peaceful. The sound felt like it was wrapping itself around his audios, filling them with their pure sounds. He liked hearing very much! After not having it and suddenly given such a gift.

"Who?" The young one gasped. His voice? He could make sounds too… but his voice was so different. Why did his sound different?

The femme smiled warmly and sat at the end of his bunk, reaching out to touch him but the young one recoiled, moving away from her. "It's alright," she spoke to him again, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"H-how… how do I know that?" he shuddered, still scooting away although his back was already against the wall. He had no where to go.

"I'm your creator, little one. My name is Vivance."

He just watched her warily as she moved to sit closer to him. She didn't seem threatening. Maybe… maybe she was the one he was waiting for. Maybe he should let her.

Ever so slowly her hand eased over until she finally made contact. At first he jumped but then sat still. She must have been the one he had been waiting for. A smile started to form on his face at the final realization that he wasn't at all unwanted or forgotten. Someone was waiting for him and now he had found her.

His creator.

**End Chapter One**

**Tirya**: I'll do the review response this time just so everyone knows!

MariaShadow: Thank you. Yeah, Jazz seems to be the type of guy who would hate being left out of anything going on. Ratchet was definitely justified! Primus knows the poor guy would be only be able to stand so much before he snapped. Thanks again!

Tiamat1972: Lol, well aren't you just lucky! ; ) Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy this story.

Zero: Oh you haven't seen cute yet. Wait till you see lil baby Jazz and Prowl. Wait… if you're reading this than you already have : ) Thank you and enjoy!


	3. Homecoming

Tirya's A/N: Ok, you smarty pants ; ) Most of you figured out who was who in the first chapter. Here's a new challenge. Me and Des, for the moment, each write half of a chapter. One writer, one character. We switch characters each chapter. Can you tell who writes for who in which chapter?

Chapter Two: Homecoming

"'ome sweet 'ome, eh lad?" Backfire breathed in the sooty air deeply, working his shoulder joints as he did so. The young one by his side found himself smiling again as he too took in a deep breath to mimic his creator.

Hex and Gunlock both pushed past them unceremoniously, nearly knocking the fledgling over as they did so. "Stop talking to it and get inside, Backfire. We gotta hide it for a while or the neighbors are gunna report it."

It? He was an it? The young one tilted his head to the side in confusion. He didn't think he was an it. He was a he. A mech. Maybe he didn't know much about this world but there were a few things he had been imbedded with and one of those things was he was most definitely a mech.

"Shut y' trap, Gunlock. I know wot I'm doin'." The orange and blue creator snarled back before giving the fledging a smack on the back. "Get y' aft inside, lad." 

The fledgling did as ordered, staggering somewhat unsteadily into the small doomed building. He stopped as he reached the door, gently running his hands down the smooth metal of the door. The humble residency had rust spots in areas near the bottom and far too many dents scratches to even count but still… if this was his home than this was home. Who was he to judge differently?

"Move it!" A rough hand pushed him again, which one of the three he wasn't sure but again, did as he was told. Inside, it didn't look much better.

"So what do we name it?" Hex looked over to Backfire, as the great blue and orange mech joined them in the main room. "I say we name him something… I don't know, mysterious. Something with an edge to it."

Their leader nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Wot about Prowl?"

"Prowl?" Hex gave a shrug, looking over at the dingy gray mech. "Yeah, I guess that will work."

So that was his name then? The fledgling smiled at the sound of it. Prowl. His very own name.

"Wot d' ye think about it?" Backfire placed a hand on the newborn's shoulder. Prowl, just nodded, a slight smile still on his face. He couldn't seem to shake the grin away either.

Gunlock's face wrinkled into a frown. "Did they give the kid a voice? He hasn't said a word yet."

"No one's told him how to talk yet, 'Lock. Maybe we just need to teach him." The femme spoke up leaning against her bondmate while Backfire stood next to the youth.

Prowl cocked his head to the side. Talking? He could talk? No one had mentioned that before now. Why didn't they say he could do that? Then again… why hadn't he just tried on his own? Surely he was capable of talking. Furrowing his brow and concentrating sound came out of his mouth. Not intelligently at first, making a sound more like "aaaapp."

Backfire shook his head and squatted down slightly, coming level with his optics. "No, no lad. Try Prowl." He said the youth's name long and drawn out so he could hear each of the sounds.

His face wrinkled again as his mind mulled over each sound before they all tumbled out of his vocalizer in somewhat the right order. Prowl looked back to Backfire after doing as instructed, hoping for a praise.

He got none.

"Close 'nuff. Now, I want ye t' go with 'Lock. Ye got t' learn t' transform." The blue and orange mech shoved Prowl toward his other creator who looked much less pleased with him.

Gunlock looked at the youth with absolute disgust making him cringe as the bigger bot grabbed at his arm and dragged him outside. Prowl winced as his hand dug at his armor as he we tugged. Why was this one hurting him? Why did he look at him like that? He didn't think he did anything wrong but then, what more could he do than to follow this mech. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe it had nothing to do with him.

"Alright, kid." Gunlock released his arm and took a step back. "You know what transforming is, you were programmed with it." The youth nodded. "Good. Now all you have to do is concentrate. Start the program and the rest of your body will follow."

Prowl looked down his body and then back to the mech in front of him. That sounded easy enough. Prowl shut off his optics and tried to access the program lodged deep inside his mind. Everything seems so jumbled, so out of order… how can he do this with no order! No logical way… It was making his head hurt.

"Snap out of it, idiot." The larger mech threw a piece of scrap metal at his head, smacking into his already aching head. "Just access the program. It's not hard for Primus sake!"

Prowl gave himself a shake and tried again. Somewhere in the chaos he found the program, trying as hard as he could to wrap his mind around it and draw from it… Then, everything worked. Parts started moving without his command, his body twisting and turning. At first, he wanted to scream. Not because it hurt but it felt so strange! It felt… unnatural. His knees popped out of joint and twisted behind him, his arms folding and latching under his chest. Wires inside his chest turned as the rest spun 90 degrees around and his head disappearing under his chest.

Then as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The world looked like it had just grown or perhaps he had shrunk. From his position, Gunlock looked twice as big as he had before… and why did he feel like he was on his hands and knees? He had tires now. That's why the world grew from under him! He was on four tires now! Just like his creators… he could transform.

Gunlock gave no praise to the young mech at his feet but merely kicked his tires. "Good. Now change back and get inside. We're done for the day." The older mech spat, trudging back inside the rust ridden residency.

Prowl just sat there. No praise? He did good, didn't he? He did as he was told, he did it correctly. He had transformed. So why didn't anyone say anything to him? Prowl sighed and sat back on his tires. There was obviously something wrong with him, there just had to be. Something in his spark told him this wasn't right. This wasn't how other fledglings were supposed to be treated.

Inside, Gunlock sat down in a huff beside his mate, his arms crossed over his chest and fingers tapping rhythmically on his arm.

"Wot? Did ye give up?" Backfire jibed the older mech, taking a good long gulp of energon from his mug.

Gunlock narrowed his optics. "Slag you, 'Fire. I got the kid to transform."

"Then what's the look for, Love?" Hex cooed, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. "Seems to me, we have nothing to worry about. The plan's going perfectly. I'll admit the fledgling isn't perfect but he's functioning. With training he could do our work."

"How? His computer froze up just trying to transform." The mech growled back, bringing a hand up to his faceplate to rub at it, a habit he had picked up a few millennia ago. "Maybe we're pressing our luck here, 'Fire. He ain't even registered with the government and if someone finds out with built him without a permit…"

"Don' worry about it. Wot matters is it's done. We keep 'im 'idden f'r a cycle or two and no one will know the difference."

"But we're pushing our luck, 'Fire! He isn't supposed to be transforming yet, he isn't supposed to be doing half the things he is already. Patch put that thing together with slag. If his computer's already not able to cope with the stress, then how is he going to work the underground?"

"'e'll work!" The leader snarled, throwing the mug at the other. "Ye shut yo' mouth an' leave it t' me. 'e'll do wot we need."

OoOoOo

The moment he left the building that he'd woken up in, the young mech had been in awe of what he was seeing. Everywhere he looked was something new and different and absolutely amazing. The femme at his side, Vivance she said her name was, patiently explained each and every question. Sometimes he even asked a question just to hear her answer. His creator's voice was just as beautiful now as it was when he first heard it and he didn't think he'd ever tire of it. That room had not been kind to him, making him that much eager to use all of his senses to the fullest.

Vivance could not be more delighted. Her golden optics danced with pleasure and contentment now that her fledgling had finally been brought into the world. He would want for nothing, she would see to that. Curious once he got over his initial fear, the child had started talking and barely stopped for her to answer. She was so pleased with herself, not for the first time, that she had saved that money to afford a sparkling of her own. Life on her own was lonely and not even her considerable wealth or many friends could take that sting away. This child would be just what she needed to be happy. And in return, she vowed to make him just as happy with the life she planned to give him.

Nearly her own height, the young mech was a lovely shade of chrome blue and silver that nearly matched her own plating. His optics were the same shade of molten gold that she had and the symbol of Neutral proudly adorned his chest. Like many other creators, she had had the builder of his shell base the design off her own so that there would be a definite likeness. The femme could not ask for a more beautiful child.

He held onto her arm the whole way home, marveling at the world around him. They entered a very beautiful part of the city with tall spires and large buildings. His creator explained each one as they passed it, talking about that district's library or art museum or music hall. The last one she pointed out with a fond smile and promised to take him sometime soon. Music was wonderful, she told him. Especially for a young mind such as his. Her own creator had taken her to a concert when she was first created, even named her after a musical term.

"Little one, I want to show you something," she said, pointing to a street that led to a less beautiful section of the district. The buildings in the distance weren't as tall or glorious and the sidewalks were dirty. "Do you see that road?"

"Yeah," he answered, cocking his head curiously. "What's down there?"

"Many things. But I want you to promise me you'll never go down there, alright?" Her optics stared into his, betraying her worry. "It's dangerous over there for young mechs, and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Why's it dangerous?"

"Bad people live there. Bad people who might hurt you if they get the chance. Don't give them that chance, little one. Stay here where it's safe, ok?"

"Ok," he nodded, pleased to see her smile in pleasure. He didn't want her to worry about him. She had been so kind to him, and besides, she was his creator. If she said not to go, then he wouldn't.

"Now come with me. I'm going to take you home." Vivance led the way to one of the large spires and got into a lift.

"Home?" the infant asked curiously.

"We live in one of the apartments in this building," she explained. "Room 2016 if you are ever without me and need to get in. I'll give you a key later after your inspection."

The newborn wasn't sure what 'inspection' was or why he would need one, but he nodded anyway. He would probably understand it later.

He enjoyed the ride on the lift and seeing out over the district. It seemed like a large beautiful city and he would love to see all of it someday. But not alone. He turned his golden optics on his creator and held on a little tighter to her arm. He wanted her with him always. To help him understand and fit in to this new world he'd been created into. He never wanted to be alone ever again if he could help it.

Vivance showed him around their apartment once the lift stopped. Showed him everything she could think of each room at a time. The former medic had a large amount of wealth from inheritance and personal savings, and it certainly showed.

"It's so big," the young one breathed, taking in his surroundings with wonder.

"It is," she nodded. Before today it had been too big. Too empty. The former medic hoped that with her fledgling living here too, it would seem much smaller.

"It's so pretty," he said as he explored the main living area, wanting to touch everything, but not allowing Vivance to leave his sight. He could see her reflection in the window when he looked out at the lit city below them. She was leaning against the wall, watching his enthusiasm.

She chuckled at her child's comments; his childlike wonder at everything was so refreshing after such a dull life. "I wouldn't let you live in squalor, little one. Now come on, don't you want to see your room?"

"My room?" the infant took the femme's offered hand as she led the way down a hallway.

"Yes. It's right across from mine if you need anything. I wasn't sure what you might like, so if you want anything changed about it, let me know." Palming open the door, Vivance led her sparkling into his room. It was nearly empty at the moment, containing a reading lamp, a set of shelves, and a recharge berth. Hopefully they would have time to go shopping before his inspection ten days from now.

Once his creator had turned on the lights, the fledgling wandered around this room in the same fashion of the others. Seeing the recharge berth so much like the one he woke up in, he quickly figured out that this was where he would rest. His own space to do with as he pleased, according to Vivance.

"You must be tired," she said seeing his steps drag as he explored. "You had a long day today, I'm not very surprised. I should leave you to rest."

A sudden panic rose in the young mech's throat as he saw his creator turn to leave him. He didn't want her to go! Why was she leaving him alone?

Vivance was about to shut the door to her child's room when she felt her hand being pulled back. The fledgling said nothing and stared at her feet, but the nervous expression on his face said it all for him. "What's wrong, little one?" she asked kindly. "You need to recharge or you won't have any energy left. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head but did not release her hand.

"You have to let me go," she gently said.

He shook his head vehemently and tightened his grip.

So that was it? He didn't want her to leave? Her free hand patted the top of his lowered head. "If I stay with you, will you recharge for me?"

The child considered the agreement and finally nodded his head. So long as he wasn't alone, it was ok.

He didn't let her go, but led her to his recharge berth, seeming afraid to let her go in case she changed her mind and left him. Scooting as far to the side of his berth as he could, the fledgling tried to make room for his creator. Vivance chuckled at her child's efforts, but shook her head.

"There's no room for me, little one," she said. At his suddenly frightened face, she quickly amended her statement. "I'll stay here as long as you need me, but I can't fit on the berth. It wasn't made for two." The femme crouched on the ground and gently dislodged her hand to run it across his forehead. "Lay down, I'll be right here."

In the back of her mind, she wondered just why her child was so afraid to be alone. In her personality request for Vector Sigma, she asked for affectionate and sociable. But not dependent. She would never hurt an infant as to make him dependent on others. Why was he so scared of being alone? She had never been like this as a sparkling.

Such worries had to wait until later, however. Right now she was needed, and Vivance vowed to always put him first no matter the inconvenience. If he needed her comfort, then it was what he would receive. One thing her creator had instilled in her was respect and empathy for those weaker than herself. It was why she became a medic when she was young and why she wanted a child now.

Gradually the infant relaxed under her gentle touch and lay down. He even deactivated his optics at her request. But he still couldn't stop fidgeting. There was no way he could recharge, even with her next to him, calming him down with her cool touch.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly. "Why are you so upset?"

The young mech reactivated his optics for a moment to look at his creator. "Could you…" he wasn't sure how to word it. What if she got angry at him? What if she left him to the quiet night all by himself?

"Could I what?" She let her hand still itself on his arm, trying to look as comforting as possible. The last thing she wanted was her own sparkling afraid of her.

"Could you talk to me?" he asked so softly that at first she wasn't sure he'd even said it.

Ah, he wanted more than just her presence. Very well, her friends always said she could ramble on for hours about nothing and everything. Time to put that claim to the test. "Of course," she acquiesced. "What would you like me to talk about, little one?"

"Anything," was his reply, slightly louder with confidence that she was not going anywhere. "What are we doing tomorrow?"

"Well for the next ten days we have to get your ready for your inspection. An inspection," she explained without being asked. "Is when a person from the government comes to make sure that you are ok and you receive an identity number. Every mech and femme ever created has one of these numbers, even me. And on that day, once you are made a legal citizen, I will be able to name you."

"A name?" he yawned, systems starting to shut down into recharge.

"Yes. We can decide together if you want."

"How did you get your name?"

"My creator, Reboot, took me to a concert before my inspection." Her molten gold optics dimmed in fond memory. "I remember that I loved it all so much that he decided to name me after music. Would you like me to take you to the music hall sometime before your own inspection? If anything it will be a good break from the work we have to get done."

The child nodded absently. If his creator loved it, then he wanted to try it for himself. Maybe he too would come to love it as much as she.

Vivance talked on, filling the next hour with their plans and what she hoped he would see and do and like. Even after he fell completely into recharge, she remained for a few moments more, just staring at him. She had to stop herself from reaching out and touching him again, just to make sure he was real. After all these years and all her determination, she finally had a fledgling of her own.

Something would have to be done about this unexpected fear of his, but they had plenty of time for that. She would not do what so many of her peers did. She would not ruin this young life because of a noble's passing interest in something new. Not that the femme felt she would be bored of this sparkling any time soon anyway. No, something told her that now that she had him, life would hardly lack excitement of some form or another.

**End Chapter Two**

DesertCat's A/N: Hope you all liked the chapter! I know we had fun putting it together. Browie points to anyone who can figure out who wrote which piece. Thanks to everyone for the reviews. I live for reviews. No really. I'm pathetic I know… And on to the reviews! Oh and just so everyone knows, It's my turn to answer them.

Mariashadow: So glad you liked it! Me and Tirya both agreed it would be the best way to get that part of Jazz's personality. Poor baby, we're so mean to the guy. Hope you liked this chapter too!

Puffball: Hey! I know you from DA. Yeah as I said, we're mean to him, what can we say. Poor aint got it good either. Thanks for the review:D

Tiamat: huggles baby Jazz and Prowl I know… and they haven't gotten to the good part yet! Begs the question as to why Jazz and Prowl haven't run away from us yet… lol Thank you!

Truebornchaos: Ah ha! We managed to fool you. J/k Prowl is the first one, Jazz is the second. No worries, Jazz will get his accent later on. Thanks again!


	4. First Meetings

Tirya's A/N: You guys are good! Most of you had it right, I did Prowl first then Jazz. Are our styles really that different? This chapter is a bit longer than the others, but we needed to put a lot more info in it to set up later chapters. For those who are curious, even though we put their 'births' parallel to each other, Prowl is older by a few years.

DesertCat87's Author's notes: You gotta admit, Jazz and Prowl were cute as kids. As adults too, but darn cute kids too. X) But then, I'm a fangirl so I might be bias. Thanks all who reviewed and I'm so glad you all like it. Please R&R! Oh yeah, we don't own the Transformers, yada yada, only the fanchars. Thanks again!

Chapter Three: First Meetings

He heard the repair tech's hollers before he even got close to the shop. Patchjob must be in one of his moods again by the sound of it. The sound of someone quite clearly yelling back soon followed. Well at least it wasn't a customer. Patchjob's tempers could get downright frightening when he lost business.

Prowl clutched his injured arm even tighter to his chest as he drew closer. He'd been too slow today. Assumed too much and knew too little. His creators would not be happy with him when they found out.

"…Absolute slag!" the mechanic swore, chucking a rusty warped piece of what used to be a power coupling out the door to lay in the yard. "I tell y', when I get my hands on that slaggin' sorry excuse fo' a trader, I'm gunna to make 'im wish he'd never been sparked!"

"Well what the frag are you yelling at _me_ for?" demanded a young femme. She followed the repair tech as he brought his rant to the thrown item in his yard, gripping a hammer threateningly.

Ah yes, the young mech sighed. What would life be without those two going at it at least once per day? The way they bickered, one might mistake them for a couple too long bonded to each other. But Patch was easily five million years older than his young employee.

"Because _you're_ th' one who…" Prowl finally limped into view, stopping the mech short with his appearance. "Back so soon, kid?" he asked with irony, noting the young one's wounds. "Don' tell me, y' blew another one? Young'un, how many times do I have t' tell y'…"

"Actually," Prowl cut in gently, pain making his voice strained. "They were the ones who backed out on the deal this time."

"You're hopeless!" the mechanic cried, throwing his hands in the air. "Do y' honestly think you're th' first trader who got slagged on a deal?"

The young mech frowned and limped closer. "No, but the other traders…"

"Th' othe' traders figure a way out o' their problems! Y' listen t' me, an' y' listen good. If y' want t' work on th' back markets, y' gotta be smart about it. Y' can' keep comin' back t' me fo' repairs an' that Gunlock o' yours'll have both our heads."

Prowl said nothing to this piece of advice he'd been hearing for a long long time. It wasn't like he especially loved the back markets anyway. The usual liaison for his creators' trade business, Prowl all too often found himself on the wrong end of the blaster from an unhappy buyer or supplier.

Backfire continued to send him out there time and time despite some of the near disasters that had occurred. People underestimated Prowl because of his youth, the leader reasoned. They would be easier to rip off that way thinking they had outwitted one so inexperienced. Of course, that also meant that the young mech had to constantly be at the top of his game, especially when rumors began to circulate about the brand new trader on the markets. From day one he'd been trained to think like, and then promptly out-think, mechs millions of years older than he with that much more experience.

Patchjob sighed as he took in Prowl's quiet but hurting frame darkening his doorstep. Due to a very real fear of their having an illegal sparkling being discovered, the three traders would only let Patchjob and his crew heal Prowl's wounds. A medic would be worlds better, of course, but a medic, even one from their side of town, would want an I.D. number. An I.D. number the child didn't have and couldn't fake. The reward of turning in an illegal child would far outweigh anything Backfire could offer to keep it quiet.

So here Prowl was, once again. Through the years, Patchjob had gotten to know the child as his visits became more frequent due to harder assignments. While he certainly couldn't care less how the traders raised their collective fledgling, he couldn't help but notice how swiftly the child's smiles had stopped appearing so readily. He'd been so happy with what meager life Patch had brought him into, so joyful at just _being_. And while he still loved each of his creators, Prowl's childhood innocence was no more. He'd grown up so fast while sparklings his age were still unable to leave their homes without supervision.

Yes it was a harsh cruel thing what had been done to Prowl. But by Primus, everyone's lives in this slumhole was cruel and harsh. And that child had better learn how to live like that if he ever wanted to reach his first millennium in one piece.

"Well get inside," Patchjob waved his hand impatiently, nearly pushing the boy in. "Jynx, think y' can manage t' fix 'im up? I ain't got time fo' his nonsense today."

The femme put her hands on her hips. "With what?" she snapped. "Too busy to do your own slagging job?"

The elder mech sent her a dangerous glare that both Prowl and Jynx had long grown immune to. "Y' wanna go back t' th' streets then, girl? I don' need t' let y' keep this job if y' insist on actin' like some high class brat. I can drop y' jus' as quick as I hired y'."

She snorted at that, but backed down anyway. She wasn't crucial to his business and if she pushed him far enough, the mechanic just might make good his threat. "Come on, then," she said to Prowl before leading the way to an unused repair room. He obeyed the slightly older femme if only because he knew it would result in full use of his limbs again. The young mech wasn't quite sure why Jynx didn't like him, only that she didn't. Well that was fine with him; he hardly had any love for her either. So long as he got repaired, she could glare at him all she wanted.

"So who was it this time?" she asked as she retrieved the required tools.

Prowl sat up on a berth gingerly, favoring his wounds so as not to cause any more damage. "Someone who calls himself Blacklight. Backfire really wanted this deal to go through too. But once he figured out what I was trying to do, he… overreacted." He looked down at his slagged arm wryly.

"Well it looks like someone's going to be in trouble when they get home," she remarked lightly, approaching him to begin work. It would be a tough mend this time, and she really wasn't qualified to be doing this. What Prowl needed was a medic or one day he'd just fall apart at the seams. There was only so much a patch and weld job could do. He was lucky that all his wounds up to this point were not too serious.

"I tried!" he protested. "I really tried this time." Sighing, he looked away from the young repair tech as she worked.

"Trying's not enough, kid," she snapped in irritation, resentment of her own life coming through.

"Well what else can I do?" the black and gray stared down at his unharmed hand laying in his lap. "I'm just in the wrong business, that's all."

Jynx stopped for a moment to look up at him, an incredulous look on her face. "And you think I'm not? You think I like working for that slag-sucking moron who calls himself a mechanic?"

"But you're good at it," he tried to calm her down, knowing that if she got mad enough he would have to go home with a busted arm and leg. That would serve only to get his creators even angrier with him as he would be out of commission until Patchjob fixed him himself.

"I'm good at because I have to be." The femme refused to be placated, but went back to work anyway if only to give her something to do. "If you're not good at something, you got nothing. So you better learn how to be a trader or those three'll dump your aft. That's the only reason they're keeping you, you know. Cause you're their trump card when it comes to deals."

Prowl said nothing in reply. It was a lie and he knew it. There was no reason to get her angry for it by correcting her. Backfire and the others were wonderful parents, teaching him everything and keeping him even if they barely had enough money to buy energon for three. Backfire taught him everything about his job, how to bargain and mold the deal to his favor. His confidence in the sparkling constantly motivated him to get better at his job. Prowl wasn't afraid of disappointing himself, but he always hated to see that emotion in his creator, especially after all the hard work he'd put into teaching him.

Gunlock was a hard one to know, and for a while Prowl was sure he hated him. But Lock was like that with everyone, he found, and when one knew what to say and what not to say, he wasn't half bad. He taught Prowl to fight, to move so that even those twice as big were left defenseless. Words of praise or even acceptance were rare and usually hidden with disdain, yet when they were spoken they were meant. Prowl lived for his approval.

Hex he loved for the simple reason that she was so strong. Something had happened to her in the past, something that only Gunlock really knew the full of. Yet it had scarred her physically and mentally, leaving her with an intense distrust of anyone other than her bondmate. Prowl couldn't care less what strange scars had been inflicted upon her body; she was beautiful and he would kill anyone who dared hurt her. Moments of maternal love from her were just as rare and subtle as Gunlock's praise, but he cherished them when they came.

No, he loved his parents and they him. They would never dump him the way Jynx had been dumped.

The two were silent for the rest of the repair work and when Jynx gave him the go-ahead, Prowl merely thanked her mildly and left. He had a running tab with Patchjob and as long as the technician got some credits off the top of each weekly earning, he wouldn't money-grub too badly.

Prowl's leg still ached something fierce as he made his way home and he knew it would be a while before his internal repair systems could numb the pain in his arm. But at least he was feeling better than before. Now all he had to worry about was explaining this to his creators.

"Hello?" he called out when he entered his home. "Anyone home?"

"Back so soon, Prowl?" Hex asked, from her seat on the couch. She put down her datapad with the supplies list on it, an impressed look on her face. "That was fast."

He had hoped to break the news to Backfire first, but it could be worse. Gunlock was not a pleasant guy even when a job went well. It was just his way, but Prowl still hated it. He'd much rather tell Hex than her bondmate. "It… didn't go very well," he replied, not willing to lie to her. He shifted his weight nervously, waiting for the explosion.

"Again?" she demanded, rising to her feet. All signs of approval swiftly fled and now she just looked furious and disappointed. "Kid, this is the…"

"Third time this month, I know," he sighed. "Hex, I'm really sorry. I tried this time, I did."

"Just…" her lips turned up in a sneer. "Just get inside. We'll deal with it later."

"Is Backfire here?" he asked quietly, doing as he was told.

She sat back down, still glaring at him fiercely. "He's around back. I wouldn't ask him to take it well this time. You screwed up again, kid. We were counting on you to make this deal."

Prowl lowered his head slightly, feeling the shame of failure. He'd let down his family again. They already didn't have enough money to support four of them, why did he have to make it harder on them?

Despondently he went to where his femme creator indicated. Backfire was there, sorting through their inventory of goods, typing things into an old datapad. When the young mech entered, the orange and blue looked up and grinned.

"Jus' th' mech I wanted t' see! Come in, lad!" he beckoned him closer with the datapad.

Prowl obeyed, feeling even worse. Backfire was in such a good mood too.

"Ye won' believe our luck, Prowl," his creator was explaining. "I found us a buye' fo' th' cloakin' device. An' 'e's a real pushove' too; some fancy mech from th' west quarte'."

"Fire…" Prowl tried to interrupt gently.

"If we keep this guy as a client, things'll really start changin' fo' us, lad. Maybe ye'll even get tha' upgrade ye wan'."

"We don't have the credits for that," Prowl shook his head. "I don't need an upgrade."

"O' course we have th' creds, Prowl. I jus' sold us a 10,000 cred cloakin' device!" Backfire paused, taking in his child's miserable face. "Ye… did get th' device, aye?"

Prowl shook his charcoal head. "I'm sorry, 'Fire. But they pulled a blaster when I put down the first number, and…"

Backfire stared at him, face a stone mask. The young mech, who'd been trained to read the most unreadable bots, could never hope to read his creator when he was like this.

"Ye said ye could do it, kid," Backfire finally hissed in a low voice. "Ye said we could count on ye. I already sold it, Prowl, wot d'ye 'xpect me t' do 'bout it now? I trusted ye t' do yer job an' ye let me down."

Prowl said nothing, staring at the ground in self-disgust. He preferred outright anger over this quiet disappointment. Backfire had been counting on him. Backfire trusted very few, but he trusted his sparkling enough to get a simple device, and he couldn't even do that right. If the trio's leader was this angry with him, what would Gunlock's reaction be to his failure today?

"I can get it, Backfire," Prowl said quickly. "I'll try again."

"Ye had yer chance, Prowl," his parent growled, turning his back on him. "Ye only get one in this business, ye know tha'."

The sparkling would not give up however. There had to be a way to reverse this mistake, some way to make Blacklight listen to him long enough to strike a deal. He had promised his three creators a cloaking device and now it was his duty to deliver on that promise.

He walked closer carefully, reaching out to put a hand on his creator's arm like he used to when he was younger. "I want to fix my mistake, 'Fire," he said quietly. "Please. I can do it, I know I can."

There was silence for a moment. Then Backfire sighed. "When?"

Blinking, as he had expected a bigger argument over this, Prowl thought. "Tomorrow I promised Hazard and Patchjob I'd help around the shop to pay off my debt. I can go the day after. Maybe Blacklight will have cooled down by then."

"Ye keep it within th' price range we agreed on," the older mech said sternly, turning around at last. He was still angry, but at least he was listening. "Make this deal an' ye get yer up-grade."

Prowl nodded happily, glad for this second chance. He never thought to ask what would happen if he failed.

OoOoOo

Okay, so he disobeyed. What Viv didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right? Besides, it's not like he was doing anything wrong- as long as he pretended he was just lost. She had to have known he was going to do it anyway, after all, who says not to do something and then not do it? It was forbidden fruit for Primus sake! He had to do it.

The city was nothing like his home though. The streets were paved in litter and broken scrap piles. A few people were scattered here and there, most begging for credits in some fashion or another; whether it be sitting with a sign or mugging. The latter seemed more popular. The market was nothing like the one back home either. There were only about five shops, none of which looked very friendly. The windows were blocked out with plating with nasty looking owners outside, their arms crossed angrily over their chests and scowls marking their faces.

But the owners weren't the only unfriendly occupants of the city. Most of mechs gave him dirty looks as he passed by, some even throwing garbage at him. Maybe Viv was right about not visiting it.

It was about then that he heard a few bots shouting and staggering out of a building. "Hey kid," one of the mechs shouted drunkenly, tripping more than one time on his way out of a pub, putting an arm around Jazz's shoulder. "Ya got a coupla creds fer yer ol' man? Need t' catch th' transport an' ya look like yer good fer a few creds, rich mech."

The younger mech stumbled under the overcharged mech's weight. Primus, he was heavy. "Er… 'M sorry, but I uh… I don't have anythin' on me." Jazz stuttered, unsure of what really to say. Who was this mech? This city was getting stranger by the minute…

"Whatchya mean ya aint got anythin' on ya, boy. You're a rich boy. You think y' too good for ol' Clank? Aint no one better than Clank!"

Jazz pushed the mech off his shoulder, taking a few steps back. What did he say to get him so riled up? It was true, he didn't have anything on him. Why was he so angry with him? "Look buddy, I don't think 'm better than y' I don't have anythin' on me." Jazz put his hands up defensively, as the mech still advanced on him. More mechs were coming out of the pub, cracking their knuckles as they saw the young mech. Jazz didn't like where this was going.

"Y' better start runnin' boy," one shouted.

"We don' like yer kind here!"

"Bet his pretty little head'll make a great trophy."

Jazz hardly heard the last shouter before his feet started moving on their own. He didn't know who these mechs where, but he knew they obviously didn't want him around. Each block he ran, the group behind him seemed to grow and grow. People off the streets were joining the mob following him! What was this? Chase the rich kid day? How did they even know he was rich to begin with? It's not like he was wearing a giant sign on his chest.

He needed somewhere to hide. If he didn't lose them soon… he liked where his head was and there was no way he was going to be a trophy. A scrap pile. It wasn't perfect, but it would work. Turning the corner, skidding as he did so, he dove head long into the scrap, covering his lithe silver and blue form best he could as the predicted mob passed right on by, shouting and cursing all the while.

Jazz breathed a sigh of relief and sank deeper into the pile. This was definitely the last time he pulled a stunt like that and it was the last time he'd visit this city. All Jazz wanted at this point was to go home and see Viv. He should have known better than to have disobeyed in the first place, Viv always knew better. Jazz rubbed his helm and struggled to get out of the scrap pile before his mob came back.

"Take out that slag, boy! What you doin' takin' a break?" An older mech shouted, causing Jazz to freeze. Guess now wasn't the time to make a run for it

There was some moving around, feet shuffling and a door opening off to his left. He couldn't see what was going on, but he could hear everything.

"I'm going, Patch." A younger mech this time, carrying something from the sounds of it. The mech stumbled over to his pile with a heavy sounding crate, dumping the contents all over Jazz.

Unfortunately, it wasn't scrap metal. It was melted slag.

Jazz yelped and jumped , trying to get the melted metal off his exterior before it made too many holes in his armor while the slightly older mech just stood stock still, watching the slag covered mech dance around shouting curses not even Prowl had heard out of Gunlock.

Prowl waited until the silver mech brushed off the last of it before he, "Who are you? And what are you doing in there?" It wasn't every day he scalded mechs with slag.

"Huh? Oh, uh… the name's Jazz." He greeted with a friendly hand. "Sorry 'bout that. I was uh… well hidin'." The mech grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his helm self consciously. What a way to make an impression… "What's yer name?"

"Prowl," he gazed back skeptically. "Who were you hiding from? Because I don't know if Patchjob is going to like a criminal hiding behind his shop."

"Naw, I aint a criminal. I's gettin' chased by some guys from the pub." Jazz mentally slapped himself. That story didn't sound any better than being a criminal. Prowl on the other hand didn't seem to care all that much for his story, happy enough with the information that he wasn't a criminal.

"I take it you met Clank. Over charged mech asking for creds, right?"

"Yeah… how'd you-" Jazz pointed with his finger as Prowl busied himself with picking up scrap pieces Jazz had scattered all over the floor when he jumped out.

Prowl looked back up to the young bot. Obviously this Jazz character was new to this side of town. Either that, or he truly was that stupid. "Clank does that to all upper class bots. You should have stayed away from the North side." The gray bot placed the scraps back on their pile in a neat and titty order, blue with blue and red with red despite the fact that all the scraps were going to the same place so it really made no difference in their order.

Jazz tilted his head to the side, following Prowl around like a shadow that had lost its owner. This guy seemed like fun to pester. Orderly kinda mech huh? This could definitely prove to be fun. "Whatchya mean upper class bots? How'd ya know?"

Was he serious? That settles it, the bot must have been that stupid. Prowl stared at him incredulously, "because you couldn't look more obvious if you had a sign around your neck."

"Really?" Jazz looked down at his armor and then to Prowl's. Well… maybe his armor was better taken care of, and brighter in color. And maybe Prowl's armor didn't fit quite right and had holes in some places… Prowl was right, he did stick out. Funny, he never noticed a real difference before that.

The fledgling shrugged it off and walked around the broken down building, running his hand along the rusted surfaces. "Right, so…. Ya live here 'r somethin'?"

Prowl resisted the urge to bristle. "No. I work here."

Jazz poked at a particular rust spot with his finger, scratching away some of the splotch. "Oh. Huh. M'creator doesn't make me work. Yer creator makes you work?"

Prowl gave him a look. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Jus' asking. Don' get so uptight, buddy." Jazz turned around to face him, his hands up defensively.

Prowl shook his head, keeping his back to the other mech while he finished his chores around the shop. Prowl wasn't liking this new mech. Some upper crust bot from the city coming here to get a kick on his side of town like it was some cheap thrill. Either Jazz went away really soon or Patch might just accidentally find out about him.

Prowl went to pick up the last of the scraps and return it to the bin, only to run into the bot following him. Did he not know what personal space was? Prowl brushed past him again, but Jazz followed. One step behind. If Prowl stopped suddenly, the other bot would rear-end him. Literally. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Do you have to follow me around?"

Jazz shrugged innocently, his face alight with mischief. "No. I can stay here all day."

Lucky Prowl.

"I have work to do. You can hang around the shop, if you truly are that bored, but would suggest you make a run for it before Clank gets back. If you thought he was mad before, wait till he finds out you ducked him."

"You're bluffin'. That guy aint gunna fin' me." Jazz sat against the wall, lacing his fingers together behind his head. Jazz was just eating this up. He was gunna give this guy so much grief over the next few cycles, Prowl might just blow a gasket. All that much better. This was so much more fun than harassing his neighbors. He didn't get nearly the rise. Only a few prods, and Jazz had already managed to make the other mech start to twitch. It took a vorn to get Skyhigh to do that! Oh this was defiantly going to be fun…

"Down here! I can see him, slagging little good for nothing. How could you let him go?" Jazz gulped a little too loudly. It was the mob again, slag if Prowl wasn't right.

"Er… I better get going, later Prowl!" The silver and blue mech fled before Prowl even got a chance to tell him it wasn't the mob. Unfortunately, it was Gunlock and Hex… who had just heard about his botched mission…

**End Chapter Three**

Tirya's A/N: It's my turn to do reviews now!

Sanjuno Shori Niko: Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! It is so much fun to do, especially with two brains working on it together.

Tiamat1972: You would be correct, ma'am! Yeah, poor lil guy. We have plenty in store for both him and Jazz that will turn them into the mechs we know and love. Yay baby TF's!

MariaShadow: It actually took a little while for us to come to the decision to put Prowl there. But I think we make a convincing case for it, what do you think? I doubt you thought they would meet the way they did, but it's definitely a story to be handed down! Viv will find out, and you'll see what we have planned for that.

Angelus Prime: Lol thank you, they are adorable, aren't they? Wonder no longer! I'm sure Prowl likes to tell the tale more than Jazz does though : )

Trueborn Chaos: What? No three page review? You're slackin' off on me ; ) Just teasing, thanks all the same! Yeah, Gunlock doesn't exactly come across as a 'daddy' type guy. Good guess, you are right.

HunterBlues: Sorry, no slash fic this time around : ) You are right, they did have a rough start as I'm sure you've seen. Just wait and see how rough we'll eventually make it. I think Jazz would definitely love a cat! Pat your kitties on the head for us. You're right on both accounts with who's who and who wrote what. You psychic or something? ; ) Yeah, Prowl's creators aren't exactly cuddly by any stretch of the imagination. Vivi will find out, but you'll have to wait and see what we do with it though… Nope! Life will never be dull again!

PuraJazzBot: -hugs baby TF's- Thanks, I'm glad you liked it!


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